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“I didn’t run. I flipped him off and walked—sexily, I might add—out of his place.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?” I looked up at her. “I’m going to take the blue file. I’m going to go back to my normal life and forget all about Mr. Darcy. I mean, really, Darcy? That’s his last name? The more that I think about it, the more it’s good this didn’t work out. You know I’m a huge Jane Austen fan. I would end up daydreaming of Matthew Macfadyen playing Darcy circa 2005. Not Anna Karenina. That mustache did not do it for me… Urgh, I’m rambling. Cleo, help me.”
“What do you want me to do? It’s sort of amusing to see you all whiny about a guy. A very hot, rich—”
“I get it!” I sat up. “Let’s forget about me. My life has gone back to being boring. What happened with you? When I called it sounded like you and Mark were having a good time out. Is he back too?”
“He ran into an old partner, some words were said, then some drinks were spilled, which led to fists being thrown, so it was a good idea for us to leave.”
“Cleo!” I jumped off the couch and picked up the bowl of kettle corn and her glass. “Why didn’t you say anything? Here I am just thinking about myself while he’s alone in his room.”
“He said he wanted to be alone.” I went upstairs, and she followed me.
“When Mark says he wants to be alone, it means he wants to get drunk and forget about it. Grab the bottle; this isn’t going to be enough.” I drank from the glass on the way toward the back room.
“I’m fine. Go away,” he said when I knocked on the door.
“I have white wine and kettle corn.”
There was pause. “Damn it.” I heard him groan.
Smiling, I opened the door. I almost dropped the bowl when I saw the purple ring around his eye, which he was nursing with a bag of peas.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s not that bad.” He reached for the half-empty glass. “It’s my fault, really—”
“How can this be your fault?” I entered his all-white bedroom. Over his bed were six black-and-white photos of various attractions in New York City.
“This is what happens when you lie to your current lover about having a mother who died in a car accident to build an emotional connection, and your ex-lover asks how your mother is doing in front of your current lover because she thinks he is a friend, and you tell her she has Alzheimer’s.”
“Mark!” I smacked his arm.
“I know, it’s horrible! But they—”
“Who or what are we talking about?” Cleo came in with a bottle of wine and sat on his bed.
“The fact that Mark totally deserved getting clocked in the face,” I said as I shifted to make space for Cleo.
“Thanks,” he snapped, reaching for the bottle. He took a long swig before passing it to me.
“Well, for the record, I’m only drinking because you two had a shitty night,” Cleo said when we passed her the bottle. “This wouldn’t happen if you’d just tell the truth. It works for me all the time. Usually while we are in bed, I just slip it in. Don’t expect anything from me, my mother died when I was young, and my father was an asshole who only cared about himself. I’m damaged goods, and I don’t want to be fixed. They look at me with pity in their eyes, and that’s it.”
“That’s so sad. Keep drinking, sweetheart.” Mark tried to put her head on his shoulder, but she rolled her eyes and laughed as she drank.
“I’m fine. I have a great family right here, so I’ll drink to that.” She laughed once more as she lifted her glass to us.
She was right. All I needed was them. It had been two days of fun, and now I was back to reality.
Theo
I saw his taillight, and as he slowed down, the stoplight changed from green to yellow. Revving up, I raced right past him, through the intersection and down the curve of the street. The lights lining the street seemed like a runway, and at any moment, I felt I could lift higher if I just went faster. So I did, pushing over one twenty. I didn’t stop until I reached an area completely devoid of human life. Kicking out the stand of the bike, I took off my helmet and ran a hand through my hair.
A few seconds later, Arty pulled up next to me. Taking off the helmet, he too brushed through his dark brown hair as he looked at me. He had ivory skin and a scar on his chin, given to him by me when we were twelve.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hollered.
